Thursday, December 22, 2005

Thanmatra, the Blessy movie is all about forgetfulness. In his directorial debut Kazhcha, we saw Pavan (Yash Malavya) deprived from his parents. Here, Ramesan (Mohanlal) is deprived of his memories.

He is a Government employee, happily married, father of two children and the holder of the dreams of any middle-class family man. His father (Nedumudi Venu) wanted him to join IAS, but he couldn’t. So he wants to fulfill his dream through his son.

Everything goes on fine until Ramesan becomes increasingly forgetful. He finds his office file in his refrigerator and forgets the way to his office. Painfully we realise that he has Alzheimer’s disease, a disorder in which one loses his memories, "from latest to first," as the protagonist puts in.

Though a bit dramatic, the attempt to portray Alzheimer’s, and that too using Mohanlal, is praiseworthy. It was good to see his talents being tested to a considerable extend. Other important characters are Ramesan’s wife (Meera Vasudev), son Manu (Arjun Lal) and colleague Joseph (Jagathy Sreekumar).

If a good movie is one that leaves you brooding, puts you in a kind of hangover that you like, Thanmatra definitely fits the bill.

Songs are composed by Mohan Sithara, Kaithapuram has written the lyrics. Cinematography by newcomers Sethu Sreeram is impressive. It is for the first time that 535- B camera with Moviecam lens- an advanced camera is being used to shoot a Malayalam film.

An impressive movie, good work by the cast and crew. Director Blessy surely lived up to the anticipation generated after Kazhcha.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Today, the spectator tried a variety of modes of transport. He boarded a motor boat, then a KSRTC and a private bus, a ferry, train and last but not least, a walk of nearly 10km!

Motor boat

It’s fun to be a spectator. This time, the view was the mighty Vembanad lake. I was on a boat to Alappey from Kottayam.

Last night, Sreeni suddenly came up with the idea of visiting the tsunami-struck coastline of Alappuzha. We woke up at 6 today (the earliest since we came here!), got ready and went.

The guys were on bikes, Sreeni and I walked towards the Kodimatha boat jetty.

Misty morning, water lilies and rice fields; the scenery was impressive. Saw Kuttanad almost the completely. The last visit was ten years ago.

You shouldn’t go there alone, because you’ll surely be tempted to tell someone what you feel. You shouldn’t go there with a brigade of your friends, because chit-chat will take away the time to enjoy the scenery. The ideal company would be either your camera or the person you love!

Bus

Reached Alappuzha by 9:15 and caught a bus towards Harippad. On reaching there, we made a sudden change of plan. We decided to go to Karunagappally, towards Amritanandamayi’s ashram. There, we boarded a Karunagappally bus.

On foot

On the way, Sreeni pointed a board showing direction of Amritapuri. We alighted a stop after that, and had to walk all the way back and then another 5km towards Valikkavu, where the ashram is situated. I was walking in my district, my home was just 20km away…

Ferry

There, we had to catch a ferry. We could see the fifteen-storey building from Vallikkavu junction one kilometer away. The ashram was quite big. Sreeni was bowled over! "Macha, I thought this would be one dokku ashram with 10 or 15 sanyasis," he said. There were many foreigners, students, devotees, security and media personnel.

Then we ventured out to find the actual tsunami victims. We found many. I had to as one who knew the tsunami only from the TV. They narrated in simple words what they had gone through. By 3:30, we left Amritapuri, took the ferry and then a bus to Karunagappally.

Train

After reaching Karunagappally, we walked 2km towards the railway station. We reached there by 4:15, only to know that the train will come only at 6. Helpless, we slept in the platform bench.

I continued the session of sleep in the Kollam-Kottayam passenger, while Sreeni jotted down the story. The long, tiresome trip concluded with a 2km walk from the railway station to MASCOM.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

He was scribbling a dash here and a speck there. At the end there was a caricature on the board. I was jotting down those specks and dashes, and finally drawn a caricature for the first time in many years. We were at the Kerala Press Club, Kochi, attending a seminar on media and disability. The man was a cartoonist.

I was drawn back to my days at Madhava’s. I drew my first cartoon there; a caricature of Karunakaran.My first drawing attempt was on the unpainted walls of my then home. I used to get the left-over chalks of the literacy mission campaign. (Unni maman was an active member of the "Saksharata mission."). I still remember Thambi kochachan scolding me for scribbling on the walls.

Then I got my first set of colour pencils. Note books became my canvas. I drew up many pictures, good and bad. But after beginning to use water colours, I started collecting and keeping the pictures. I recall I had more than 100. I used to display them in pride whenever a relative or a guest came.

I learned the actual techniques of drawing in Madhava’s. I tried my hand in cartoons, with good results.

As always, my father was a silent admirer of the pictures. He considered (and still considers) it inappropriate to appreciate his son directly. Instead, he became my patron. I got my first box of imported water colours.

I began participating in drawing competitions. The first prize was actually the first prize of that competition. I drew a peacock. I got fifty bucks. I became the star of my class in the convent.

Many competitions, many prizes. But somewhere I lost my interest to experiment and later, my drive to draw. That was when I joined St Aloysius’. I took part in my last competition there. Those three years turned the participant in me to the complete spectator that I am now.

I forgot the lessons I learnt. My skill lost the lustre of experience. But I still treasure that unused range of Chinese brushes and the made-in-Italy colour box. I still hope to give a try sometime; to brush up.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

We were in INS Venduruthy, the home of the Southern Naval Command; the ship was INS Sujatha, a surveillance vessel.

We listened in rapt attention as Commander Nambiar explained about the machines, terms and jargons in the naval parlance. It was really an awesome experience. It was my first experience. I was interacting with persons guarding the deep-blue frontiers of our nation.

A visit to a ship is interesting; even more so when it is a war ship. One of the things that will catch your attention, even perplex you, will be the peculiar terms used in the ships.

"She performs the surveillance operations," said Commander Nambiar. No, "she" is not his colleague, but a ship. This is what we should call a ship; the reason is pretty philosophical.

The ship, in its hull, holds provision enough for the sailors to last for months. The vessel protects and feeds the "inmates" like a mother. That’s why she is addressed as "She." And every "she" has the initials INS. It means Indian Naval Ship.

The interesting terms do not end there. The front of the ship is called forecastle. So the back should be hind-castle, right? No, it is called quarter deck.

Cabin is a room in a ship, but the room from which the Captain controls the ship is not a Master Cabin. It is called Bridge. "It is the brain of the ship," said Lieutenant Viswanathan. A "bridge" in deep waters!

Speaking of waters, the speed of the ship is measured in "knots." A knot means nautical mile per hour. And the "log" tells the inclination of the ship as she "rolls." Don’t go by the word, log in the ship is quite like a pendulum and to roll means to turn.

When you feel hungry, you go to the kitchen. In the ship, there is a "galley." Don’t be puzzled if someone tells you the food is in "mess"; it also means kitchen. The regular meals for the officers will be served in the "wardroom," that is dining hall for us.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Don’t say that I’m stupid. This is not me, but a die hard movie buff speaking, and he’s quite exhilarated. He just saw, heard and touched his matinee idol, Mohanlal.

Lalettan was attending a function marking the end of his one-year foray into theatre. He had completed eight shows of the solo drama, Kathayattam.

My eyes rarely strayed away from him right from when he entered the podium till he left. I can hardly remember what I blabbered to him. This was the first time I was seeing him in close quarters. This was the first time when I could speak to him.

I know that admiration to eccentric levels is stupidity, but that's what I am. I love, care and admire certain things, to the level of eccentricity. Movies top the list. I grew up seeing movies of Mohanlal, and certain ones, I hold close to my heart.

I’ve seen some of his movies repeatedly that I lost count. His movies (I’m tempted to say he) have a prominent place in my memories, because most are associated with several incidents: curious; happy; sad.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

You know what socialism is, right? Have you heard of a socialist language? No, I am not speaking about the style of using the language, but a language that actually gives almost similar status to everybody. It is English.

I realised this as I typed out the previous post. I said Maman for my paternal uncle. In Malayalam, Maman or Ammavan is a common name for maternal uncle. I call my Appachi's (father’s sister) husband also Maman.

Uncle can also mean paternal one, right?. Here arises the problem. Father is Achan in Malayalm. I call my father’s elder brother (he has two) Vallyachan and younger brother (he has three) Kochachan and I affectionately call one among them, Chittappan, which means the same.

But when translation comes, only one term prevails for all; Uncle. Isn’t English a socialist language? This is applicable for the feminine gender also. My Vallyachan’s wife is Vallyammachi for me and Kochachan’s wife is Kunjamma. And my father’s sister is Appachi. My mother’s sister, had there been one, would be my Kunjamma. Here also, translation offers you the convenience of a single term; Aunty.

I have seen children, even youth, using the term Uncle to denote their father’s brother, their mother’s colleague and even their neighbour. Same is the case while feminine.

Moving to Hindi, only the terms differ. Each of the members in the family have names such as Chacha and Chachi; Taoo and Taayi; Mama and Maami; Kaka and Kaaki. Each pair can be replaced by Uncle and Aunty.

Even maternal and paternal grandparents have separate names; Dada and Dadi; Nana and Nani. English conveniently shortened them to Grandpa and Granny.

Socialism prevails while addressing people also. There is Aap to denote respect (mostly to elders), Tum to show camaraderie and Tu to address the younger ones. We have fine tuned to use You to address an individual.

Back here, I have friends who cannot differentiate between Vallyachan and Kochachan; even worse some don’t even know what they mean.

Unnikrishna Pillai is my Unni Maman, Vivekanandan MC is my Thambi Kochachan. I wouldn’t alienate them by donning them the boring uniformity of Uncle.

Friday, November 18, 2005

For the first time in my life, I was stepping in to the Kochi Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. Quarterfinal match of the Santosh Trophy Football tournament between Kerala and Delhi was about to begin. The biggest in the state, the stadium hosted more than One Lakh spectators during the last cricket match, an ODI. Now, there were only about 5000.

I still remember the day when I went to see a football match for the first time. The venue, Lal Bahadoor Stadium Kollam, was a smaller one. I was with Unni maman (maternal uncle), the tournament was Scissors Cup. We were at the gallery. It was drizzling, but it did't affect the spirit of the crowd. By the time the game finished, the whole stadium was wet.

I knew nothing about the game then, other than that you have to score goals to win. When I was a child, my kochachan (paternal uncle) had dictated me two answers. He would ask me, "Jayichathaaraa?" (Who won?) for which I’ll say, "Germany." Then he’d ask "Goal adichathaaraa?" (Who hit the goal?) for which I’ll say "Maradona." And the whole family would laugh!

Everyone of my family, from my 78-year-old grandfather to my sister, are football fans, but I was no hard-core follower of the game. During the 98 soccer world cup, I prepared an album entirely relying on newspapers. I didn’t see even the finals, which was telecast at midnight. I had a very tough time acting in front of my friends that I really saw the match.

Scissors Cup died away, and so did Kerala’s own football club FC Cochin. Two years ago was the last time I went to see a match. Venue was Kollam. I was with my Dad. Then the number of spectators was far less.

Then a World Cup came. The final was on my 18th birthday. Brazil won their fifth cup. Ronaldo was the hero. It was the first televised match I completely saw.

What I expected in Kochi and what I saw there contrasted heavily. Imported variety of "cheer girls" were there, a thing which is alien to the Kerala football scenario. There used to be a time when Santosh Trophy was held in makeshift stadiums, and the entire structure swayed due to the spectators standing up to cheer the players.

These "cheer girls" in their meager clothing does not even serve the purpose of an "item number." Another result of commercialisation of the game. We no longer have the adrenalin for the game. Instead of providing cure, the concerned ones are giving hallucinogens.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, I drank toddy; ate pork; tasted pan masala; attended a ghazal concert.

"Kumarakom"

When Nishin came up with the idea, I was pretty apprehensive. Already he was in a bad mood; the sky was murky; the destination was a toddy shop.

But Mithun, Prasanth and Srini were ready. So out we went to get the machines and Sanil. Minutes later, we were speeding towards Kumarakom, the backwater village and a popular tourist destination.

Rain had already started when we halted at the petrol bunk at Baker Junction. We went on, racing with the rain. We were sure that it will rain heavily. It was a logical decision to make our way as fast as we can.

It was drizzling though. The road was comparatively narrow. I was in "Watchie’s" (Sanil) Royal Enfield. The six-footer maneuvered the machine with ease.

Then we reached the road parallel to the lake. I have never seen a place where you have boats parallel to your machine. The roadside houses, specially ones in traditional style, were lovely.

We crossed the bridge and reached the rice fields. We could actually see rain coming from a distance. It was really an awesome sight.

In the race with the rain, we reached first. The toddy shop was by the side of the road that went through the paddy fields. Much like any local wayside restaurant.

They ordered pork, chicken, fish and four bottles of toddy as we entered the tatched place. Srini and I were strictly no-no to toddy. I remember Neetha asking me in wonder, "Nee kallu kudikumo?" (Do you drink toddy?).

However, I decided to give a try. Prasanth offered me the glass. I poured half-a-glass and sipped it. It was sour, but was not that awful.

Then came pork. It tasted good, though hot. I needed something hot because my throat was sour, and something spicy would be better, I thought.

Prasanth, as always, was late to finish. Mithun reminded us the belief that after eating, if you let your hands dry, your marriage will be delayed. Sreeni came up with another version that the repercussion will not be a late marriage, but a horrible looking wife!

Within an hour we were on the road, fully drenched in rain.

Back in the hostel, Prasanth offered a little from his pan masala packet. No special taste, though I could feel a particular kind of smell in my breath.

Then we went to listen "Umbayee."

"Umbayee"

"Fragrance of the flowers faded away, all my friends have gone. O! my beloved, when will you come?" I was also translating the lines as I listened in rapt attention to PA Ibrahim, popularly known to Malayalis as Umbayee.

Ghazal, for me, was confined to my tape recorder, television and the bathroom singing sessions. This was the first time I was attending a concert.

I read his biography in a magazine in our library. It was the very first article I read in the institute. I have seen Umbayee in TV, but came to know in detail only after reading the article. And here I was, listening to him.

He gave an introduction in Hindi, with a "madrasi" tinge, but his Urdu was excellent. He began with a song unfamiliar to me, and I began translating.

Ghulam Ali's popular ghazal "Chupke Chupke" was a real surprise. Then came a Malayalam number "Cheruppathil Nammal Randum.." by an unknown writer.

After the programme, when we had a chat with him, he told us that 12 people have contacted him claiming to be the writer of the song!

While coming back, Prasanth commented that liquor and ghazal forms a good combination!

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

This week's story is on stamps! I was to report on the fake postage stamps sold here and the way Philatelists chooses genuine ones from the counterfeit mass.

This was interesting, because I collect stamps. During reporting, I came to know of the various sources of stamps in town, and also met Mr Mathew, a veteran philatelist.

I still remember our class teacher in the third standard asking us to start collecting stamps after she took the Moral Science lesson on hobbies. I did not care much at first. By the end of the year, I also began to keep stamps that were attractive. By next June, I was hooked!

My first stamp album was a notebook. A crude way to store, I used to stick my stamps in the ruled pages.I exchanged whatever I could collect with my friends in the class.

Then on the Onam vacation that year came an envelope full of stamps from my Dad who was in Dubai at that time. That was my first jackpot, shall I say.

Then I was like a star among the collectors in my class. But one day, my stamp book was stolen. You cannot imagine the dismay I felt. That was one of the rare occasions in school when I cried without the teacher's beating.

Then, during the summer vacation that year, Dad came home. He gave me his collection that he left in one of his suitcases, what we called "Bombay Boxes."

Then I had a real stamp album. He gave me a brand new one also. It was made in China. From then on, his letters were accompanied by stamps.

My collection grew. I began understanding the various ways of collection. It takes a lot of patience to collect a stamp, separate it from the envelope, dry it and arrange according to the album space and classification.

There are stamps which when arranged in a particular order gives you a picture. Once I got two stamps of Pilippines, which formed part of a map. I sent it back to Dad and asked for him to lookout for the joining pieces. Then, after two years, he sent me the other two, completeing the picture of the map.

There were times when I totally avoided my collection, adding less than five stamps a year. But I didn't give up completely. My collection was in a dormant state then.

Now I have more than 1200 stamps in five albums. Most are used, some are mint (unsealed). But I am still not a philatelist, but a stamp collector. Philatelists are those who collect, classify and study stamps. I just collect and keep.

Most philatelists specialise in certain areas, such as wildlife stamps, space stamps or stamps of certain nations. I plan to specialise in what I call Joint-picture stamps!

Saturday, November 05, 2005

While coming back from my home yesterday, I browsed through the filed issues of The New Yorker I took from the library. There was a story of a person greatly interested in shoes. He conducted several studies, designed shoes to fit various types of feet, and even those of pre-historic people.

Somewhere, the writer asks why we wear shoes. I remember someone saying, "It is great comfort to wear shoes. You feel it the most when you take it off."

I got my first pair of shoes when I was nine. It was a pair of multicoloured canvas shoes, my long- times wish come true. Wearing shoes was made compulsory in my school that year. I used to wear the same pair of socks for five days at that time!

That was December that year. Black shoes joined the list of our school uniform the next year. I had to wear it on all the days in the rainy June. It became smelly often. I began hating shoes.

Three years from then, I had to wear shoes. In between, I got my first pair of "Action" shoes, cool ones with light in the heels! I joined St. Aloysius’ for high school studies and there was no compulsion to wear shoes in my new school. I almost snapped ties with shoes.

Then I joined SN for plus two. There I had to restore the relationship. I got a pair of black shoes, the sixth pair I had. Then, after six months, dad bought me my first pair of leather shoes-which I still use. I wear it rarely, and they still have their shine, though it’s been five years since I got it.

During the three years in my college, I went wearing shoes only six times (exactly)! And here, two times till date.Personally speaking, I do not favour wearing shoes. But once I tuck in my full sleeve shirt and wear a belt, shoes become something indispensable for me! Now, I am on a mission to use my leather shoes for three years more.

No, not the record for the longest use. My dad’s Italian shoes are 10-years-old now!

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Diwali is here, but our schedule continued as usual. In the afternoon, we went to attend a debate in the nearby auditorium, hostd by DC publishers.

I had to wait to get the interview of the Publishing Manager to finish this week’s story and suddenly came upon the most famous person we ever met- Sudarshan, the Swayamsevak Sangh Supremo! I got a chance to speak to him in Hindi!

Returned to give away the news and saw candles being lighted in front of the insti! Got a "tilak" and "Balu sheri" (a North Indian sweet) from Khyati, lighted the candles and took photos.

Finished typing my story in record time (which means "screwing" guaranteed)!.Anyway, I feel quite happy today.

Monday, October 31, 2005

Mondays are for Editorial Conferences. Yesterday, being the last day of the film festival, were for movies. A black comedy "Underground" began and ended with the same dialogue: "Once upon a time there was a Country!" The nation was Yugoslavia.

There were a few 10-minute documentaries. One, from the very beginning, had the camera floating freely. It was like gliding through the air. In the background was a description on different periods of time. Finally the camera went towards a light, then a flash, a fly dropped dead!

The day’s movie was Khamosh Paani from Pakistan. Kiron Kher as a Punjabi woman in Pakistan separated from her relatives during the partition had done a good job. After a day long spell of movies, I slept late and woke up at 7:15 today.

I finished bath in a hurry, gobbled up food fast and came to the class only to be thrown out along with six others for not reading the paper. Then came the editorial conference where my story idea was beaten to pulp by the Director, who is the Chief Editor of The Fourth Estate, our lab newspaper. After that was roaming time, hunting for story ideas on my own for sometime and along with "Ujju," my friend from Kolkata.

Sunday, October 30, 2005

I was surprised to see Adolf Hitler on screen when we entered the hall today. It was the second day of the film festival and we entered late. On screen was the German movie "Downfall," picturing the last days of Hitler and the Second World War.

Then came the French movie "A very long engagement," based on First World War. The film was directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Audrey Tautou was in the lead. "Amelie," another movie by the same pair, is the first French film I saw and it is one of my favourites.

The movie of the day was "Gloomy Sunday," a German movie by Rolf Schubel. It was about a haunting music composition, which leads to a number of suicides including that of its composer.

I came back, ‘googled' Gloomy Sunday and found out that there is actually a Hungarian music piece which lead to suicides of more than 100 people! Surely "Gloomy Sunday" made Saturday sizzling!

Saturday, October 29, 2005

Today we went to attend the MG Varsity Film festival, saw five movies in a row, including a German, Russian and Spanish film for the first time in my life.

Of the five films, I enjoyed the first three very much. The German film "The Miracle of Bern" was on their first victory in the soccer world cup. The story covered the lives of a boy, his father who was a German soldier during the Second World War, a national team member from their locality and a young Journalist and his wife who goes to cover the tournament in Switzerland.

The best "timepass" movie I have seen in recent times, it has a sequence where the father slaps his son and says, "Now don’t start crying. German boys don’t cry." And the last dialogue of the movie is by the boy who comforts his weeping father saying, "You know Dad, German boys can cry now and then."

"Motorcycle Diaries," based on the life of the Argentine revolutionary Earnesto "Che" Guevara was the Spanish movie. The story dealt how a 10,000km travel across Latin America transformed a jovial medical student into "Che". Impressive fair.

There are more in the offering, the fair will continue tomorrow and the day after it. And on Sunday, there is "Khamosh Paani," the Kiron Kher starrer Pakistani movie.

The worst thing is that we have to write a review on a movie, as an assignment! Anyway, I love movies and today it was a pucca movie marathon!

Friday, October 28, 2005

Phew! It is 3:30 in the morning and I am sitting before my stupid computer. I finished the third page of the fifth issue of the fourth volume of our lab newspaper, The Fourth Estate.

Every Thursday four of our gang (an editor and the three subs) has to stay awake, finishing our paper. The Malayalam stream students are a little fortunate. They have only one page to do, and the four of them finishes it in an hour or two.

Our Director reminded us today in our class that in the world of newspapers, the deadline is all that matters. Not only our work, but our food, rest and recreation depend on the deadlines.Now it's time to take a little nap.

Today, we are going for a film festival conducted by the MG Varsity here.

Thursday, October 27, 2005

The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn. -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is the quote for today in my daily mail. Reading this, I remembered the labs of Kerala Forest Research Institute in Peechi, Thrissur. We went there during our field trip last week. There we saw the seeds of a mighty teak. The thing was as little as my thumbnail.. But what fascinates us was that the actual seeds were inside the tiny hard globe. The scientist split it open to show tiny water-droplet like things from which a teak sprouts.

I once read a fable where a Guru teaches his disciples how the mind can consist the whole universe, by showing the pore-like seeds of a banyan tree in it’s tiny red fruit.The thoughts went on till I remembered that the animals, birds, stones, trees and we all were composed of molecules and atoms……………

This was an extract from a session of wandering thoughts today. This, certain eccentricities, and certain mannerisms. That is me for the guys here, for my family and for everybody.

Tonight is for manual cropping of the stories. Mostly I’ll try to start the computer layout also, though the deadline is tomorrow night. Now, get set and go………..

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Today our sir KTO narrated his trip to Sri Lanka. His focus was on the condition of Sri Lankan press, the plight of Journalists and the general conditions prevailing in third world countries. He narrated with examples how the aspiring journalists are forced to take up other jobs, due to poor pay. The training they receive in Journalism is not enough to make them competent, he said. Thus there is a vicious circle, where poor training begets poor pay and poor remuneration forces the aspirants to go for poor training.

He reminded many that they had glorified in the interview their "long cherished ambition" to become a journalist, to "change the face of India". He sadly reminded us that the quality of our Journalism does in no way match the standards of the West and we will be frustrated a lot if we consider remuneration as our prime objective.

As for me, i am still wondering. I came here with the aim of "cutting" a year, get a job, two year work experience, do my MBA and mint bucks. This 69 year old veteran have influenced my intentions, my language, my behaviour, even my thoughts.

By the way, I am sub-editor for this week's issue. Today I had absolutely no work, tomorrow and the day after will be hectic.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

Whatever you can do, or believe you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. -- Johann Wolfgang von GoetheThis is my first post...Thanks to Sreeni for teaching me how to blog. Happy reading